


all the words you cannot say

by lil_snips



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: FTM Peter Parker, Gen, Minor Character Death, Mute Peter Parker, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, RIP May Parker, Self-Esteem Issues, Trans Peter Parker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2019-12-26 07:29:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18278615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lil_snips/pseuds/lil_snips
Summary: “Paige, I’m sorry to inform you that your aunt is dead.”He froze.  Every bone in his body screamed as he heard those words. It’s just like your dream, he thought.Your aunt is dead.She’s dead.She can’t be dead.“-- you there? Paige?”“It’s Peter,” he snapped, coming out of his stupor.“Okay Peter, Social Services has been called, they should be here soon. I’m sorry for you loss, honey,” he flinched at the nickname, “we did all we could.”





	1. Chapter 1

Peter remembered vividly the day his world came crashing to its feet.

He had been sitting next to May in the car, singing along loudly with her to some pop song that was on the radio.

They pulled up to a stoplight, Peter dancing along to the chorus as his aunt laughed at him. The light turned green, and as their car pulled through the intersection, his spidey sense went off. He looked at May to warn her as a semi truck drove straight towards them.

Glass shattered and metal crunched with the impact. Peter’s head slammed forwards into the windshield, glass shards grabbing at his face. The dashboard collapsed, trapping his legs.

When the impact was over, Peter realized he was upside-down. Their car had rolled over. He glanced at May. Her head rested on the steering wheel, blood dripping from cuts and a bruise developing on her forehead. The airbag was deflated between her chest and the wheel. “May,” he said. “May, I’m sorry.”

Her eyes found his, unfocused and blurry. “Ben?” she asked, delirious.

Peter let out a sob that had been building in his chest. “May, it’s me, Peter. I-I’m sorry, I should h-have seen i-it coming-g,” he choked out. Ambulance sirens trilled in the distance, coming closer.

“Ben, you should see Peter now, he’s grown up so much. He’s such a fine young man.”

Tears streamed down his face.

Tires screeched outside their beat-up car as the medical team pulled up. Someone bent down next to Peter’s window, looking inside and checking the damage. “P-ple-ease, my a-aunt is hu-urt,” he told the man. His head was pounding, stars danced before his eyes.

“Don’t worry, kiddo, we’ll get you out of there,” the medic reassured him.

“But… my aunt…” The medic didn’t respond. Peter’s head swam; the world seemed to spin. “My… aunt…” Darkness began to close in on him, wrapping around his throat and squeezing his lungs. His head lolled and he blacked out.

____

 

Peter perched on the roof of a building on the corner of Grand Avenue, his hyperactive senses taking in the noises of the night. The city was alive. He breathed in the stale city air… it was home. The electric sensation flickered across his body… his “spidey sense.” He pulled his mask down over his head and leapt off the building throwing a web out to catch himself. He swung across the street, letting his instincts take over.

 _There…_ he thought. He dropped into the alley. _Shit._ Where was he? He heard screeching tires and a car came peeling around the curve. He leapt up and shot a web at the car. He landed on the roof with a gentle thud. He knocked on the window of the driver’s side. The driver swore and swerved but maintained the same ridiculous speed. Peter broke the window.

“Hey, Mr. Criminal? Hey, my name is Spiderman. You can call me Web-Head, you can call me Amazing, just don’t call me late for supper. You get it?” He stuck his hand out. The thug jerked the car and Peter gasped as he nearly lost his head on a lamp post. “Not a shaker, huh?” he asked looking into the window again. “A hugger, maybe?”

“Fuck off!” shouted the thug.

“Look buddy, you’re going pretty fast,” Peter remarked. “You oughta slow down, huh?” The thug tried to hit him but Peter caught his fist and laughed. “I didn’t mean slow down your punches.” His spidey sense went off so sharply he whimpered. All of a sudden he noticed a familiar car pull out in front of the speeding car with him in the passenger seat. His aunt was behind the wheel. His other self jerked and looked up at the oncoming car.

“MAY!” he shouted. He leapt for his aunt’s car. It was too late. Spiderman and Peter Parker blended together and he was back trapped in the car.

“You could have saved me, Peter. Why didn’t you help me?” May asked him, before she went limp and the light died from her eyes.

___

 

He woke up in a hospital bed, gasping for breath. A brace sat on his ankle, holding it in place. His forehead hurt, and when he reached up, he felt the telltale lumps of stitches holding a large gash together.

Peter took stock of the room around him. It was simple, with blue walls and a bedside table. Sterile. The smell of detergents and cleaning sprays were almost too much for his enhanced senses.

For a few moments, he lay there, contemplating his dream. He was sure it was just his anxiety playing tricks on him after the adrenaline of the crash, but he was shaken. It was just a dream, right?

His train of thought was interrupted by his door opening with a squeak. A pretty, young nurse came in quietly. “Hi, Paige, I’m Jaime.” Peter shifted uncomfortably at the use of his deadname, but the nurse continued. “You’re probably feeling pretty disoriented right now. What do you remember?”

“Umm, there was a crash. Aunt May...” he trailed off before looking at Jaime’s face. “Is she okay?”

“Paige, I’m sorry to inform you that your aunt is dead.”

He froze. Every bone in his body screamed as he heard those words. _It’s just like your dream_ , he thought _._

_Your aunt is dead._

_She’s dead._

_She can’t be dead._

_“_ \-- you there? Paige?”

“It’s Peter,” he snapped, coming out of his stupor.

“Okay Peter, Social Services has been called, they should be here soon. I’m sorry for you loss, honey,” he flinched at the nickname, “we did all we could.”

“Could- could I see her?” Jaime nodded, helping him out of the uncomfortable hospital bed and leading him down the hallway, before indicating a door on the left. Peter nodded gratefully as she opened the doorway.

He stopped in the doorway, looking at the bed. May lay on it, cold and lifeless. Slowly Peter walked towards the figure, trying to etch her face into his memory as tears threatened to blind him.

“May...” he trailed off, words failing him. “I’m so sorry. I failed you. I’m so, so sorry.” He sat down in the chair, gripping his aunt’s hand. It was cold and dry, and Peter couldn’t help but think about how _wrong_ the whole situation was.

_May is dead._

_She can’t be dead._

_She’s dead._

____

 

When the social worker came, Peter didn’t talk. There was no point, now that his only family was gone. He just followed along, too shocked to argue.

Soon, it was decided that he would be put in an orphanage. The social worker took him to his house, where he gathered as much as his suitcase could hold of his old home. He had stopped crying hours ago, but tears threatened to pour over again as he closed the apartment door for what would be the last time.

His silence juxtaposed the swirling thoughts of blame in his head. _If only you’d been faster_ , they told him, spiraling into an almost tangible blanket of self-hate.

Peter was led into a room with a mix of girls and boys. They all looked up at his entrance. One of them, an older girl with long, brown hair, stood up and moved towards him. “This is Pai-, I mean, Peter.” Her eyes narrowed at the near slip. “He’s just lost his aunt, so don’t be too harsh on him,” his social worker introduced to the group. He shifted nervously at the social worker’s words, but the older girl sent him a soft, understanding smile.

“Hi Peter, I'm Sawyer Jackson,” the girl said, smiling. When Peter didn’t say anything, she moved forwards, reaching a hand out for his bag. “I’ll help you get settled in,” she said, sending a glare at the others, who had stood up in an almost threatening way, and leading him to a bed in the corner. He thought about giving her a smile, but felt too numb to do anything but follow.

“How old are you?” Sawyer asked once they reached the vacant bed next to one with dark blue blankets on it. Peter presumed it was hers, and was proven correct when she plunked down and leaned back after setting down the bag she was carrying of his stuff. He didn’t want to talk, though, so he held up a one and a three on his hands, before signing _thirteen._

He’d learned sign language when he had been volunteering at a center for deaf people. Deciding it was easier than trying to find words and speaking out loud, Peter signed back, _you?_

Sawyer scrunched her eyebrows in concentration, and for a moment, he feared she wouldn’t understand what he was saying. Then, she signed, _fourteen. Are you deaf?_ Peter shook his head. “Oh good, because my sign language is really rusty.” He nodded in understanding.

 

 _Is there a bathroom?,_ he signed, _I need to change._ He’d been wearing his binder for over eight hours. Not too safe.

“Yeah, right over here,” Sawyer said, waiting for Peter to gather up his pajamas before showing him the way.

He locked the door behind him and began changing, avoiding looking at his face in the mirror. Taking off his binder and being able to breathe fully again was like coming up for air after swimming underwater for a few minutes. He slipped on the loosest shirt he had and some sweatpants before leaving. If Sawyer noticed the slight bulge of his chest, she didn’t comment on it as they walked back over to their beds.

“Look, I know saying sorry doesn’t mean much. It’s not going to help the hurt go away. But I am sorry that your aunt died. If you ever need anything, I’m here for you,” she told him. “Anyways, I bet you’re pretty tired. You should get some rest.” She must have noticed his anxious countenance because she reassured him, “No one’s going to mess with you. I won’t let them.”

 _Thank you,_ Peter signed before leaning back on his bed and letting the darkness cover him like a familiar blanket. 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Peter’s first few months at the orphanage are riddled with nightmares. Dreams of May telling him it’s his fault she died haunt him from every corner.

He’d become close to Sawyer, who brought back a stack of sign language books home from the library. She would always wake him up gently in the night, talking to him about space and physics and other things she knew he was interested in until he calmed down enough.

She also learned about his secret identity after he disappeared after dinner one night, without returning until the wee hours of the morning.

He didn’t know she was waiting up for him when he crawled in at two in the morning until she whispered, “Wanna tell me what you’re doing on the ceiling?” Sawyer had startled him so bad that he fell, nearly dropping all the way to the floor before he caught himself with a web. Peter lowered himself into a crouch before letting the web out. 

 _Enjoying some night air?_ he signed. He hadn’t actually spoken since May’s death. (She didn’t know, but he saw some selective mutism information books tucked into her sign language stack. He was okay with it, as long as he didn’t have to talk. He wasn’t sure what his voice would say. The weight of Ben’s death, and now May’s, weighed heavy on his chest, and it was easier to sign than force himself to talk through that pain.)

“In that outfit? Nah, there’s something else going on. You’re Spiderman.” Peter froze, but then realized that there was no way he could defend himself after she’d seen him literally crawling on the ceiling, so he nodded. Sawyer leaned in, asking, “So you've got super strength, you can crawl up walls, what else can you do? Also, how did the whole “I’m a literal spider” thing come about?”

 _All of my senses are a lot stronger than they were before, and I’ve got this thing, it’s like an extra sense, it tells me when stuff is in danger. I guess I’m faster and stronger than before, and I react faster to stuff. I think that’s it?_ he signed, wanting to go to bed. _As for how I got all this shit, I got bitten by some radioactive spider that got out in a lab my class visited on a field trip._

She must have noticed his tiredness, as she backed off with the questions. “We’ll talk about this more later, alright? I was really worried about you tonight.” He nodded his thanks, before sliding underneath the covers. Sawyer followed suit, her dyed blue hair falling gently around her on the pillow. 

_Goodnight._

“Goodnight, Peter.”

 

Peter was grateful when, a few years after he came to the orphanage, the older kids who would always push him around moved out. They would mock him, shove him into doors, and force him to do their homework. He was always terrified to do anything back, fearing that with his strength, he’d do something to hurt them. They left, leaving one last memory in a bruise that lasted for days.

 

 

His sleep cycle was almost nonexistent. He would stay out almost all night, coming back in time for a few hours to sleep, before being woken up by Sawyer from nightmares that left him shaken and more tired than he was before.

She suggested that he take a break from Spidermanning, but in the mornings, he would hear May calling him by his dead uncle’s name and knowing that if he stopped, more people would get hurt.

Even with maintaining his identity, Peter still got into one of the top high schools in Queens, even managing to skip a grade on the way up. He pushed himself harder and harder, trying to prove that he might be good enough in some way.

_You could have saved me. Why didn’t you?_

 

 

Sawyer didn’t know it, but every day on his patrol, he stopped by May and Ben’s graves. He would tell them about what he’d done as Spiderman, about the bully at school who called him Penis Parker because Peter was ranked ahead of him, and about life at the orphanage and the few friends he had.

He always left feeling like he should’ve done better.

 _You’re the reason Ben died,_ his subconscious told him. _You could have saved May._

 

 

He’d been noticing his reflexes slowing down, and had assumed it was from his lack of sleep. It was nearly finals week, and Peter had been pushing himself harder than ever inside and outside of school. It all came to a point when, the day before his chemistry test, a mugger caught him off-guard.

It was late in his patrol when he heard the scream from an alley nearby. He swung over to see a man shoving a woman against the alley floor, his hand shoved up her skirt, the woman trying to push him off. Peter flinched as the man’s hand flew, striking her across the face. She yelped and brought a hand to the tender skin. He was on top of her screaming at her, he pulled a gun from his pants and pressed it to her head. She stiffened, eyeing the barrel.

Dust from the alley got in Peter’s throat before he could announce his presence and he coughed. The man froze and turned, mouth twisting into a sneer as he realized who it was. “Spider-boy, eh? Thought you’d show up.” Peter moved to engage him.

First things first: disarm the man. He grabbed the man’s arm with the gun, ripping the weapon from his hand and flinging it towards the street as the man pulled the trigger. The shot bounced off a wall, sending brick shards flying and leaving Peter dizzy from the sudden noise against his sensitive ears.

The man took that opportunity to punch Peter hard between the eyes. He stumbled but lashed out, his foot connecting with the man’s stomach causing him to double over. Peter grasped the man’s head and slammed it against his knee, feeling bone shatter against bone. Leaping up, he spun backwards kicking the man in the chest sending him into the wall, not moving. He turned to the woman still on the ground.

"Thank you,” she told him earnestly as he helped her up. Peter nodded, and considered for a moment saying something, but he hesitated too long. “You’re such a great help to the world. Keep doing what you’re doing,” she said as he walked her to the street, avoiding the man’s body near the entrance. He felt like he was forgetting something, but his muddled brain couldn’t remember.

He walked the woman to the street, where she gave him a hug, sobbing into the fabric of his suit. He rubbed her back, trying to be comforting. She pulled out a hand with shaky hands, before calling a friend, asking them to come pick her up. Peter sat with her on the bench, waiting, until a small car rolled up and another woman stepped out with open arms to embrace her friend. The newcomer expressed her thanks, helping the woman into her car and driving away.

He went back to the alley, looking for the man where he had left him. Peter heard a knife click and he turned around, realizing that while he was helping the woman, the man had managed to crawl over to his knife. _Shit, I didn’t web him!_ His breath whooshed out of him as the blade sliced deep against his side, and he tumbled to the ground clutching his side. _Holy shit! Holyshitholyshitholyshit!_ His head reeled. He had the sense to web the gash together. Breathing became somewhat easier but pain spiked through his entire body. He staggered to his feet. The knife wielding bitch was gone. Peter leaned against the wall, before sticking his hands against the wall and slowly pulling himself up the rough brick. What felt like eternities later, he reached the top of the building.

He lay back on the roof, trying to catch his breath as the webbing began to staunch the bleeding. For a few moments, all was quiet. He listened to the city living below him, the beeping of car horns, the chatter of radios, and the discussions of the people staying up late.

Suddenly, his senses went off as he heard a roaring behind him, and he sat up suddenly, wincing, but ready to fight.

Peter couldn’t believe his eyes as _the Iron Man_ landed on the apartment building. He scrambled back and launched himself to his feet, ready to swing if the situation turned bad, wondering if Iron Man was here to arrest him for vigilante activities. That question was answered when the faceplate raised to reveal Tony Stark’s face. “Yknow, you’re pretty popular on Twitter. People are always trying to figure out where you’ll go next.” Noticing Peter's expression, he said in a gentler tone, “Hey, don’t run, I’m not here to arrest you. I just want to talk to the guy who’s slinging all over the city in a cotton onesie.”

He paused, tilting his head. The suit contracted and Mr. Stark stepped out, wearing a t-shirt and jeans. “Look, I’m not going to hurt you.” Peter nodded, believing him.

 _What do you want to know?_  he signed to the older man.

“You use sign language? That’s pretty cool. Any specific reason?”

Flashes of May’s bruised and bleeding face shot through his mind, and he looked away, in the direction he knew the graveyard was in, sending a stream of mental apologies to his aunt. _I don’t want to talk about that._

“Alright then, let’s try something simpler. What’s your name, kid?”

 _It’s called a secret identity for a reason,_ Peter signed, before realizing that was kind of rude. _Oh my god, I’m so sorry._

“Don’t stress it. Someone’s got a sense of sarcasm. How old are you?”

 _Sixteen,_ Peter replied.

Mr. Stark whistled. “Wow, that’s young. And you built all this yourself? Even the webshooters?”

_I had a friend help me a little bit with those, but the rest, I made myself._

“Impressive, for a sixteen-year old. Ever think about applying at Stark Industries? We could use a brain like yours.”

_Are you offering me a job?_

“Perhaps,” Mr. Stark replied with a slight smile.

 _Ned’s never going to believe this,_ Peter signed, slightly frantic in his motions due to his excitement that _the actual Tony Stark_ was there, and offering him a job. His wound pulsed at the movement and he sucked in a sharp breath.

“Is Ned the friend who helped you build all of your shit- I mean stuff? And are you hurt?” Mr. Stark asked, moving closer.

 _No, why would you think that?_  he lied, ignoring the question about his friend, nervous now that the older man was examining him more closely.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe it’s the red stain on your onesie or the fact that you wince every time you move. And you look like you’re about to pass out.”

 _I’m fine. I heal quick,_ he signed, turning around and stretching out his arms, feeling trapped and ready to run. _Thanks for the job offer, but I’m gonna have to turn you down._

“Wait- kid- damnit,” Peter heard Mr. Stark say as he reached out and swung, the motion jarring his side.

He swung away in the night, smiling a little to himself.


	3. Chapter 3

Ever since Tony had met the spider kid on that rooftop, he hadn't been able to stop thinking about him. The kid - _kid -_ was sixteen, swinging all over Queens with some high tech stuff that he had made himself.

Tony had been visiting all the top high schools, presenting information about Stark Industries, trying to figure out which kid it was. He figured that he would live in Queens, since that was where his crime-fighting was focused, which helped narrow down his search. But with only a few schools left on his list, he was running out of options.

He straightened his tie ever-so-slightly, getting ready for his tenth presentation. He could hear the excited tittering of the kids on the other side of the wall. Tony had talked with the principals, wanting the presentation to be a surprise in case the spider kid caught wind of Tony's visit and decided to not show up.

"Are you ready, Mr. Stark?" the principal asked, starling him out of his thoughts.

"Always," he said with a charming smile. Adjusting his glasses one last time, he spun on his heel. "How do I look?"

"Uh..." she stuttered, not expecting the question.

"Alright, good enough. Lead the way." He followed her as she directed him towards the stage.

"If you'll wait here, I'll introduce you."

"Oh, don't worry about that. Everyone knows me, right?"

"Oh, um, alright."

Tony flashed her a smile before stepping out onto the stage, only to be blinded by the lights. "Whoa," he tapped the mic clipped to his shirt, hearing the thump in response, "could we get the lights lowered up here? I like to be able to see who I'm talking to."

"Sorry!" a young sounding voice exclaimed over the chatter of the students from he back. The lights dimmed significantly, and Tony gave the room of kids a wide grin.

"Hey, everybody. You guys all know who I am, right? Of course you do. Anyways, I'm here to-" A door at the back of the auditorium opened, letting in a flood of natural light.

"Sorry I'm la-te ohmygodisthatTonyStark?" the student said.

"Yes, Flash. Go have a seat by Ned. And you have detention after school, and you'd better show up this time," a teacher instructed.

Tony paused at the name Ned, watching the kid - Flash - go take a seat by a large Asian kid, who was sitting next to another boy with brown, curly hair who looked slightly less excited to be there than the other students. Vaguely, he wondered if Flash was the spider kid, then remembered that the vigilante used sign language.

"As I was saying before I was _interrupted_ , I'm here to give a presentation on what's going on at Stark Industries. We most definitely don't accept lateness, Flash. Please try and be better," he began.

"Flash, you just got called out by Tony Stark himself," the Asian kid, Ned, said loudly.

Flash blushed, before retorting, "Why don't you go make out with your boyfriend, Leeds."

“Peter’s not my boyfriend, Flash, we've been over this.”

“Also, at Stark Industries, we don’t tolerate hate of any kind,” Tony interjected, with a pointed look at the obvious bully in the room. “Now, onto the presentation.”

 

 

Afterwards, Tony walked through the school’s hallways, talking with the principal about possible opportunities for students. “I’ve actually been looking for someone to be a personal intern for me. Someone quiet, out of the way, but does their work well.”

“I’m sure any number of our students would be willing to do that for you. However, a lot of them tend to be...rambunctious with their work. We encourage a lot of collaboration and hands-on practice here, so finding someone quiet might be difficult.”

Tony looked around at all the faces in the hallway. So much opportunity. He needed to figure out who this kid was. That onesie? Not safe at all. “What about your top students?”

“The top student is Cindy Moon, but she has so many extracurriculars, I’m not sure if she’d be able to make it work. There's also Michelle Jones, but she has the same problem. Um, there’s Paige Parker, I mean, Peter. He’s, well, he’s definitely quiet. Peter hasn’t talked for three years.”

He hummed in thought. “How does he communicate? I mean, in a school at this level, he can’t just not talk.”

“Peter uses sign language, but sometimes he writes responses.” That got Tony’s attention.

“Do you mind pointing him out? He seems like a good option.” They looked down the hallway of excited teenagers. Tony spotted Ned, walking with the same boy from the auditorium.

“He’s the curly haired boy with the grey shirt and jeans,” the principal said, pointing out Ned’s friend.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to go talk to him.”

“Of course,” she said.

Tony made his way over to the pair, pulling a pen out of his jacket. “Think fast,” he said, launching the pen at Ned. Without hesitating, his friend, Peter, reached out and caught the pen before it hit the boy’s face.

“Thanks, dude,” Ned said, not noticing Peter’s frozen expression of shock. Tony gave him a smile, internally laughing at the kid. He had just told him all that he needed to know.

“Your name is Ned, right? Do you mind if I talk to Peter here for a moment?”

“OhmygodTonyStarkknowsmyname!” he exclaimed. “I mean, yeah, of course, that’s no problem Mr. Stark sir.”

“Call me Tony,” he called after the retreating boy. 

He looked at Peter. “Is there somewhere more private where we could talk? I have some questions for you.” Peter nodded stiffly, looking like he wanted to be anywhere but there. He led them down to a quieter hallway.

Tony pulled out his phone, showing videos of the spider swinging around the city. “That’s you, right?”

 _No, what do you mean?_ Peter signed, his hands shaking slightly, clearly nervous. The next clip showed the spider kid stopping a car before it hit a bus.

“Look at you go. Wow, nice catch, 3,000 pounds, 40 miles per hour, that’s not easy. A lot easier than that pen.” Tony smirked, putting his phone away. “You’ve got mad skills, kid.”

 _I- that’s not me_ , he gestured.

“Mhmm, then what’s that sticking out of your backpack?” Peter slung his bag off of his shoulder to see his suit (if it could even be called that)  hanging out of the main pocket.

“So, you’re this spider...ling, crime-fighting spider. You’re Spiderboy?”

_I’m...Spiderman._

“Not in that onesie, you’re not.”

 _It’s not a onesie,_ Peter signed, slightly offended.

“Oh, it’s definitely a onesie. Look, kid, I want you to be safe. And if your idea of safety is swinging around in that thing you call a suit, I see it as my duty to make sure you’re better protected than that, especially when I know you got stabbed just a week ago,”  Tony told the boy.

_Okay, so what do you want me to do? And I’m fine. I heal quick, like I said._

“Come intern for me. You can build a suit yourself, but with better materials. It’ll keep you safer.”  

 _Can I have some time to think about it?_ he motioned, shifting slightly, uncomfortable with the situation.

“Of course. Here, I’ll give you my number. Let me know when you change your mind,” Tony told Peter, taking the pen back from him and scribbling on the back of a business card. He handed the boy the card, before walking back towards where the principal was waiting.

 

 

When Tony got back to the compound, he went straight to his lab. “FRIDAY, bring up all records on Paige Parker in Queens,” he said, remembering the principal’s name slip up. He’d have to ask the kid about that later.

“On it, Boss.” Newspaper pages, report cards, and other documents on the boy came up. One page in particular caught his eye. The headline of the newspaper read, “Two dead, one injured in fiery collision,”  and showed a picture of a car, crushed nearly to pieces. He skimmed the paper, looking for information about Peter. His heart dropped when he read that Peter had lost his last family to a speeding driver.

Underneath the article, a smaller image of a younger Peter stared back at him. Tony could see the hauntedness in his eyes through the graininess of the picture.

“Dismiss all, FRIDAY.”  He rubbed his hands down his face, moving over to the couch in his lab that he all but collapsed on, trying not to worry about the kid he had just met.

 

 

A few days later, Tony received a text from an unknown number.

_I’ll do the internship._

He smiled.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Peter was nervous for his first day at Stark Industries. 

He’d spent hours the week before the internship started, looking through the meager amount of clothes he owned, cursing himself when they all seemed too casual. He didn’t own a single pair of dress pants or even a nice shirt. 

Eventually, he decided on what he usually wore to school, seeing that it was really his only option other than pajamas. He was not about to wear pajamas to see Tony Stark in a professional environment. 

Sawyer had woken him up from yet another nightmare, falling back to sleep once he was awake and had nodded to her that she was okay. Peter was always shaky after waking up, and after the first few, he realized that sign language and hand tremors don’t go along well. 

After waking up, Peter got out of the squeaky bed and went to the bathroom. He sat in his usual corner, resting his head against the cold tile wall beside the sink. The fluorescent lights flickered just fast enough to be really noticeable in the empty room. 

He glanced at the clock on the wall, internally groaning when he read the time. 4:36. Better than his usual time, but he didn’t have to be at Stark Industries until 8:30. 

From Peter’s position on the floor, he could just barely make out a couple of stars through the open window, despite the light pollution of the city. He stared at them, wondering if they were May and Ben, watching over him. Pushing that thought out of his head, he stood up.

Back in the bedroom, he quietly removed a floorboard beside his bed, setting it down gently in order to not wake up any of the other kids. Reaching into the hole it left, he pulled out his art journal and graphite pencils. 

Walking back down the hallway in the dark, Peter thought about how he ended up here. His mind was filled with what ifs and should haves, even though he knew better than to go down that path. 

Before he knew it, he was back in the bathroom, his body set on autopilot after so many nights of repeating the same trip over and over again. 

Peter flipped slowly through the journal, analyzing the images that he’d drawn in the nights before. Most of them were dark, some smudged and faded. At first, he had only drawn May and Ben, but gradually, they were replaced by darker images, fabricated by his subconscious while he slept.

Tonight, his pencils danced across a new page, creating May’s face from his nightmare. When the outline of the dream was finished, he paused, leaning his head against the wall once more. The two stars had faded with the glow of the city. Peter felt alive in that moment, breathing in the night air from the propped open window. 

He completed filling in the details, closing the journal and tucking it into his side. Peter stood up from the tight corner where he’d been sitting, stretching to wake his muscles up. After replacing his book, he sat on his bed and pulled out homework, figuring he might as well be productive.

 

 

 

A few hours later, Peter found himself standing at the doors of the old Avengers Facility. A sign sat in the doorway, saying something about new management. He sighed in frustration, running his hand through his unruly curls. 

Behind him, a horn sounded. He turned to see an expensive car with the window down. “Hey kid, you Stark’s recruit? I’m here to take you upstate.” When Peter didn’t move, the man driving said, “Are you or are you not Stark’s recruit?” He nodded, pulling himself out of his stupor. “Get in then, we don’t have all day.” 

He got in, marveling at the amount of leg room the vehicle had as he put his backpack on the seat next to him and buckled up. The man in the front rolled down the window between the front seats and the back as he pulled onto the road. “I’m Happy, Tony’s personal driver. He said your name was Peter, right?”  Peter nodded, meeting Happy’s eyes in the rearview mirror. 

Peter stared out the window, an awkward silence falling between the two. He watched the familiar buildings go by as they drove down the streets of Queens. 

All of a sudden, he realized where they were. He frantically tapped on Happy’s shoulder, tears threatening to break past his eyes. “What, kid, I’m trying to drive.” Peter had to draw his hand back suddenly, as Happy had put the barrier back up. 

He sat on the edge of his seat, tense as a live wire, trying to sense for any cars coming, anything that was abnormal. His spider sense was unusually quiet, making Peter even more nervous. His quick breaths drowned out any other noises, and he closed his eyes, concentrating. 

They drove through the intersection that he tried so hard to avoid without incident. 

 

 

 

When they finally made it to their destination,  Peter stared out the window in awe as they rounded the entrance road. The gravel crunched underneath his feet as he stepped out of the car, taking in the buildings and the landscape around him. 

“Come on, kid, Tony’s waiting.” 

Inside, the room was spacious, with large windows letting in ample natural light. Happy led Peter towards an elevator across the way, their footsteps echoing through the room. “Hey, FRIDAY.” 

“Hello, Happy.” Peter jumped at the voice from the ceiling, looking up to see a speaker embedded in the material. 

“That’s FRIDAY, Tony’s AI. She monitors the building and keeps the area safe. Keeps Tony safe as well,” Happy explained. 

“What is your name?” FRIDAY asked, directed at Peter.

_ I’m Peter, Peter Parker _ , he signed, hoping that the elevator had a camera so she could see him. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Peter,” the AI said, almost warmly. He sighed in relief, glancing at Happy. He was making a strange face, before understanding dawned on him. 

“Well, that explains why you’re so quiet.” The elevator dinged, the door opening to the loud thump of hard rock through glass walls. Peter braced himself as Happy waved a badge at access port, leading him through the door. 

The sound was deafening to Peter’s enhanced senses, causing him to double over from the headache the music instantly created. He closed his eyes and plugged his ears, to no avail. In a last effort, he focused on his breathing as much as possible, vaguely noting that Happy was trying to get Mr. Stark’s attention. 

After a few moments of roaring chords, the mechanic finally stopped what he was working on, looking at the pair who had just entered. “Happy, what’s wrong with him?” Mr. Stark asked loudly, noticing Peter’s reaction. 

“I don’t know, he was fine in the elevator.” 

“Kid, what’s wrong?” 

_ Everything’s too loud, _ the boy signed, his eyes still closed, his hands shaky. 

“Shit, I mean, shoot, FRIDAY, turn volume down to thirty percent.” The sound faded and Peter opened his eyes, able to focus again, despite a slight ringing in his ears. “You okay now?” Mr. Stark asked, resting his hand on the boy’s shoulder. He nodded, tensing under the touch before relaxing into it. “Alright, Happy, thanks for bringing him. I’ll let you know when he’s got to go home, mkay? Great,” he said, shooing the chauffeur out of the room. 

Once they were alone, Mr. Stark turned to the teenager. “You ready to get started, kiddo? Let’s see what you got.” Peter obliged, setting down his backpack and pulling out the suit. The older man grabbed it, bringing it over to one of his worktables before beginning to inspect it, before moving around the lab, collecting various materials.

After a few moments of searching, Mr. Stark spoke. “So, I was wondering, who all knows about this whole ‘Spiderman’ thing?” he asked, watching Peter’s reactions.

_ Just a few of my friends. _

“The Ned kid?” Peter nodded as he watched the older man carry a sewing machine over. 

“Y’know what I think is really cool,” the mechanic said, setting a bundle of fabric on the table. “This webbing.” He picked up a container that was sitting on the bench, before pointing it at the teenager and launching it. Peter, who was looking around at the machinery in the lab, caught it, not even glancing in Mr. Stark’s direction. “That tensile strength is off the charts. Who manufactured that?” 

_ I did.  _

“Climbing walls, how you doing that? Adhesive gloves?” Mr. Stark asked.

Peter grimaced.  _ It’s a long story. _

“Alright, you ready to get started? You’ve got everything you should need over here, let me know if you need anything else, alright kiddo?” He nodded, looking at the pile of fabric, wiring, and other things to make his own suit. Mr. Stark went back to inspecting his old suit, holding the goggles up to his face. “Lordy, can you even see in these?” 

_ Yes, I can, I can see in those, okay?  _ Peter signed, taking the cotton bundle out of the mechanic’s hands.  _ It's just that when whatever happened, happened...it's like my senses sometimes get dialled to 11. _

“That’s what happened earlier? With the music?” He blushed slightly, nodding. “I’ll keep it quieter for you. Don’t want the spiderling going deaf, eh?” Peter ducked his head at the nickname, blushing even harder. 

_ Thank you, _ he motioned to Mr. Stark. 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s not a big deal. I want to see what you come up with, alright? I’ll be working on my suit over there if you need anything else.” 

_ Alright,  _ Peter responded, turning to the table of material, ready to get started. 


	5. Chapter 5

After a few hours of steady working to the sound of AC DC, Peter was brought out of his focus by a knock on the door of the lab. He glanced up from his suit - he was almost done with the wiring inside the fabric - to see  _ the Bruce Banner _ standing at the door. 

“Tony, you wanted me to come by?” he called through the glass.

Mr. Stark looked up from his welding. “Just a sec, Brucie-bear, lemme finish this up. What’s your number?”

“Probably, like, a three.” 

“Alright, give me a minute more.” He glanced at Peter, suddenly remembering his presence, but forgetting his youth and nerdiness. “Pete, you can go let him in.” 

He paused for a moment, before nervously walking over to the door, opening it for the older man. “Tony, who is this?”

“I said, just a sec, okay? This shit is tiny and I can’t get it done with you guys yammering away.” 

_ I’m Peter, _ he signed awkwardly, hands slightly shaky. 

_ Hi, Peter, it’s nice to meet you.  _

Peter watched the older man out of the corner of his eye before he began gesturing,  _ You’re Bruce Banner, holy shit, you’re like, one of the best scientists in the world! And an Avenger! I’ve read all of your papers, and oh my god your research on gamma radiation is amazing! And you know sign language! _

Bruce smiled at the antics of the overexcited teenager, blushing slightly at the praise.  _ I’ m glad you liked reading my stuff. It’s not often that I meet someone as young as you who understands what it says, _ Bruce signed back.  _ You must be pretty smart.  _

It was Peter’s turn to blush.  _ Thanks, Mr. Banner.  _

_ Please, call me Bruce.  _

“Oh, good, you two have met. Bruce, this is my new intern. I thought you two would get along.” Mr. Stark had finished what he was working on, and was walking over to talk to the pair. “Whaddya think of him, Brucie-bear?” 

“Tony, I only just met him a few minutes ago.”

“C’mon, gimme something.”

_ I’m standing right here, Mr. Stark _ , Peter butted in.

“Oh right. And how many times do I have to ask you to call me Tony?” The teen blushed again.

“So, what did you need me for?” Bruce asked. 

“Oh, I just wanted you to meet the kid. He’s something, isn’t he?”

_ Again, I’m standing right here, Mr.- I mean, Tony. _

Bruce laughed, before turning to the teen. “Peter, do you want to help me in my lab someday? I think you could help me with some formulas and stuff,” he said, catching a glance of where Peter’s notebook with the equation for his webs lay on the workbench. 

The young boy looked at Tony with eyes wide with excitement.

“Now, hold on a second,” the mechanic said. “Are you trying to steal my intern?” Bruce laughed again as Tony looked at Peter, seeing what he thought of it. “Oh, alright. We’ll work something out.” 

Peter’s smile lasted the rest of the day.

 

 

 

By the time he had to go home, he almost had the wiring done in his suit and the fabric was nearly all put together. Peter was exhausted, but even so, wanted to work more. Hanging out with Tony had been a surreal experience, and he finally felt like he had something to look forward to. 

“Ready to go home, kid?” Tony asked, grabbing a set of his keys. “I’ll take you back to your house. I want to see where the spiderling lives.”

Peter’s mind immediately went into overdrive. How could he prevent Tony from knowing he was an orphan? He could go to Ned’s house, or MJ’s, but it was pretty obvious that they weren’t siblings and Tony had already met Ned. He could decline, but he didn’t want to seem rude or disappoint his newfound mentor. A sigh escaped his lips. If he let Tony see the orphanage, then Tony might not want anything to do with him and-

“Breathe, Pete,” the mechanic’s voice filtered through his intrusive thoughts, bringing him back to the present. “What’s wrong? You freaked out on me for a second.”

_ I’m sorry. _

“Don’t be. Everyone freaks out sometimes. Now, what’s up with your house?”

_ Nothing. Nothing’s wrong with it, _ Peter signed, not meeting the older man’s eyes.

“C’mon, Peter, you can tell me. Does your mom not approve of me?” he tried teasing. The boy’s eyes became glassy, much to Tony’s surprise. He led the boy to the couch at the back of his lab where he took naps, sitting him down gently. “Peter, is something wrong with your mother?”

_ She’s dead, _ he signed, his hands falling back to his lap.  _ I’m an orphan. _

“Is that why you didn’t want me to take you home? Because you live in an orphanage?” Peter nodded, still not looking at Tony. “It’s alright, kid,” he said, setting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “It’s not going to change how I see you. You’re still a brilliant kid from Queens.”

Finally, he looked up at his mentor.  _ You don’t mind? _

“Of course not. Now, is it okay if I see where you live or would you rather me drop you off at the old tower?” 

_ I mean, I guess you can take me back to the orphanage, _ he gestured. 

“Alright. Let’s do it.” 

 

 

 

Over a few months, Peter settled into a routine. He would go to school, and if it was a weekday, he would patrol in the evenings, changing into the suit that he and Tony had put together. On Fridays, he would walk to the old Avengers Tower, where Happy would pick him up and take him to the compound for the weekend, having been given a room to stay in while he was there.  

During his time at the compound, he was eventually introduced to the rest of the Avengers. His life felt surreal. Beforehand, Tony had asked him if he wanted to reveal himself as Spiderman, which Peter eventually agreed to. 

Tony had led him into the common room, where all of them - sans Bruce and Thor - were lounging around playing Mario Kart on a large flatscreen TV.  Peter’s eyes had gone wide as Tony announced his presence. “Alright, losers, there’s someone I want you to meet. This is Peter,” he had said. The group had looked up, pausing their game. 

“Where’d you pick this one up, Stark?” the Black Widow asked, standing and walking towards him, sizing him up. 

“Found him on a rooftop. He got stabbed fighting a guy and climbed up there,” he responded, nonchalantly. The rest of the Avengers looked shocked. “Oh, yeah I forgot to say that he’s special. He’s Spiderman,” Tony explained.

“And that’s supposed to be better than getting stabbed? He’s like, thirteen,” Steve said. 

_ I’m sixteen, _ Peter signed, finally joining the conversation. 

“I’m Natasha. You can call me Nat,” the Black Widow said, finishing her judgment, seeming to approve by holding out her hand for Peter to shake. He took it, smiling at her excitedly. One by one, the rest of the Avengers stood up and introduced themselves, always using their first names. 

“Hey, Pete, how good are you at Mario Kart?”

_ I’m pretty good, _ he replied nervously. 

“Why don’t you come play with us? Let’s see if you can show up Nat. It’s been a while since anyone’s beat her,” Sam invited, moving over on the couch to make room for the teenager. 

Peter sat, accepting the remote that was handed to him. He changed his settings, and the race began. 

It turned out, he was really good at it. His spidey sense worked even in video games, so he knew when shells were coming up behind him and where to maneuver to miss the ink splashes that would cover the screen when someone got the power up. 

Although he didn’t beat Nat, he came in second place, crossing the finish line just after the assassin. High fives went around, and the grin on Peter’s face was infectious.

He felt happy for the first time in a while.


End file.
